Harmony 100
by Iyaka Nari
Summary: A series of short HarryHermione stories. Ficlets, if you will. Generally, they'll focus on the pair's romance.
1. Confessions

This is a series of short stories formatted off the fanfic100 challenge on livejournal(dot come). It can also be found under the name "harmony100" on livejournal. There will eventually be 100 ficlets on here. For now, this is the first one. Pairing is obviously Harry/Hermione. Please critique or comment; it helps me immensely. This is also my catchall disclaimer for the entire thing: I don't own _Harry Potter_ or anything affiliated with it.

_Writer's Choice, #96_

**Confessions**

He always catches her fixing her face in the morning. She comes to him natural and leaves half cabaret girl. At least, that's what he thinks.

She always catches him watching her from the doorway. She fights a losing battle, trying not to look at his body as he leans bare against the doorframe, completely nonchalant. Why is she even bothering to put on blush? All she has to do is see his knowing grin and her cheeks redden.

"Why do you do that?" he asks for what has to be the thousandth time.

"Do what?" she asks, playing for time to come up with a new, better excuse. She knows she'll fail.

"You know. That. With the pencil and the mascara and everything. You put on too much. Why?"

She sighs, taking the cap off her eyeliner and leaning closer to the compact in her lap to line her brown eyes. He's always found it amusing that she sits on his toilet, directly in front of the mirror, and uses her little one instead.

"You know why. They expect me to wear makeup."

Silence follows. He knows exactly to whom she's referring. They who are consistently brought up on these mornings, but left unspoken on the preceding nights. He's sullen now, a mixture of guilt and anger welling inside. The anger wins out in the end. It's _their_ fault that he's like this, that _she's_ like this. It's _their_ fault that she leaves in the morning, never mind the makeup.

He nods, instead of speaking. There's no use wasting his voice arguing with her anymore. She bites her lip, contemplating whether or not to go to him. She decides against it. She can't tell him now; she isn't that brave, not when it comes to him. She turns to powder her face, her finishing step. There's no use of putting anything on her lips until later, he'll just kiss it off when she leaves.

"Do you have to do it here?"

He's found his voice again and it's pathetic to his ears. He hates himself for whining. His plea reaches something in her, though. She turns to him, questioning silently.

"It's just, I know you're putting it on for-- for him. For everyone else."

He's staring at the tiled floor now. His voice broke on his words. He feels so weak. Why can't he be as indifferent as her? Why can't he pretend that their frequent nights spent together in secret aren't killing him?

"Actually," she says delicately, closing her compact, "it's for my interview."

"Your interview?" He's just curious enough to look up at her over his glasses. "I thought you liked your job."

"Oh, I do! It's just, I'm not very happy with the location. I have an interview at ten to certify that I'm switching offices."

"Where are you moving to?" he asks, his voice small. He can't take it if she's even farther away.

She drops his gaze, gathering her courage. When she looks up, she looks not at him, but at a spot just to his right. "Here."

He's dimly aware that his mouth has fallen open. No. No! She can't: it's not possible. The only thing worse than her moving farther away would be her moving to the city he lives in. He'll have to leave.

"You're moving here?"

She nods, still not quite meeting his eye.

"With _him_?" His voice is strangled, almost not there.

Her eyes go to the rug beneath her feet. Almost imperceptibly, she shakes her head. "No. No, I'm not."

He stares at her, at a loss of what to say.

"I broke it off on Saturday," she continues. "I told him everything. He's not speaking to me. His family's been avoiding me. I wouldn't suggest trying to contact any of them soon."

"So you're moving here to get away from them?"

"No. I'm moving here to be with you."

Something clicks in his head as she finally looks at him. He's across the bathroom in less than a second, pulling her into his arms. Her compact clatters to the floor, but she doesn't care.


	2. Snow

Disclaimer/Author's note: I don't own the rights to Harry Potter. Thank you to those who review; it means a lot! On to part 67.

_Snow, #67_

**When It Snows**

My breath caught in my throat when Harry burst into the exhilarated common room. It almost always did when he made a sudden entrance. I stopped breathing altogether when he swooped down and kissed Ginny.

I knew it was coming to this. I did. I'd even helped them, pushed him along, reassured her that he really was that great. I worked at getting them together. I fit their emotional issues in between my studying. I helped them figure out that they were perfect for each other, of course. They always had been. I told Harry with confidence that the rumors about Ginny weren't true. (They were.) I told Ginny that Harry talked about her all the time. (He'd never brought her up.) I manufactured some sort of love out of naïve fancy. It made me happy to see them excited and hopeful.

Especially Harry. With even the smallest of hints that Ginny and Dean might be on the rocks, his face would light up. It rarely did that anymore. He smiled when I mentioned her name, laughed when I related something comedic she'd uttered. It was so nice to see him happy about someone other than Ron and me. I convinced myself that it was right, this lying. It was right to give this tragic boy something good in his life. He deserved the chance to be normal, to like someone, possibly love them. I wanted Harry happy again, wanted him to be the buoyant boy he'd been at eleven.

But he was sixteen now, and he was kissing our best friend's sister. I knew it was coming to this, I did. In fact, it wasn't even an issue of Ginny being Ron's sister. It was an issue of Ginny being another girl. Another girl that wasn't me. Another girl that was beaming up at Harry, her red curls shining, as he looked anxiously around for Ron.

I saw Ron nod to him with a sort of brave grimace from across the Common Room. I was holed up with a book by the fire. It took Harry longer to find me. I wasn't sure why he did; it wasn't like he needed my permission. When he found my eyes, the elation drained somewhat from his features. He was still smiling, but he was no longer so pleased. I put my head down quickly, hiding my face. He'd seen the look on my face, probably the tears forming. Harry could always tell when I was about to cry, something Ron didn't notice even when it happened. He'd come over here, worrying over me, causing Ginny to grow worried as well, then suspicious. I got up quickly, weaving in and out of people and their butterbeers, hastening for the portrait hole. Thankfully, the happy couple had moved enough away from it that I could slip through unnoticed.

The fifth classroom on the left after leaving Gryffindor Tower was my favorite. It was deserted, and had been for years, judging by the faded notes on the blackboard. It was for some sort of Advanced Charms class then, and the withered theory had since been proven false. It was also the first one that was always unlocked.

I lit the lamps, wiping my eyes while doing so. I resolved not to cry anymore, to focus on something else. Charms work. It always calmed me down, and it seemed fitting for the locale. I was just getting a good snowfall going when Harry came through the door. He got within four feet of me before I could speak, and even then my voice was hoarse.

"How'd you find me?"

He smiled sadly. "This was the same classroom you came to after Ron and Lavender… you know, at that party. With the birds."

I half-smiled back, remembering Ron's look of horror as the cloud of canaries came shooting at him. I hopped off the desk I'd been sitting on. I focused on making it snow harder. "How'd you slip away?" I asked wryly, surprised that Ginny wasn't attached to his arm by now.

"I said I'd left something in Snape's office after detention."

"And Ginny didn't offer to come with you?" I quirked an eyebrow; knowing Ginny, it seemed strange.

"Well, Ron had gotten to us by that point, so he said he'd watch her until I got back," Harry explained, looking sheepish.

I laughed; it was just so Ron. I had the snow swirling lightly now, around and between us.

"Congratulations," I said, when the silence grew from comfortable to heavy.

Harry looked away from the dancing flakes and back to me. He looked serious now. "Why'd you run off, Hermione?"

I dropped his gaze. The snow moved faster, sticking to my hair and his clothes.

"Hermione, what's wrong? You know I'm no good at guessing about this. All I know is something is wrong."

When I didn't answer, he stepped closer, forcing me to look at him to avoid further awkwardness. He sighed heavily when I still wouldn't talk.

"Fine. Is it something Ron did?" he asked.

I shook my head.

He looked pained as he asked, "Is it something _I_ did?"

I bit my lip and focused my gaze on his knees. Awkwardness be damned.

"Hermione?"

He moved closer, putting his hand on my shoulder. We were too close for the snow to go between us anymore. It spun thicker around us.

"It's Ginny, right?"

I nodded, barely. He sighed again, sounding defeated. "Ron was right for once."

I looked up, confused. "What?"

"Ron, he said… He kept saying that you, you know, that you… liked me," Harry said, trailing off into a whisper.

My eyes widened, giving me away. "I'm sorry, Harry. I--I'm so sorry. Look, forget about it. It's not important if I… you know. Just, don't worry about it," I stammered.

"He always said something else, too," Harry continued. "He always accused me of fancying you as well. It killed me, lying to him and saying that I didn't."

I was trying to comprehend what he'd just said when his lips found mine. The kiss was gentle, chaste, but firm. Harry didn't want me to be able to over think and then misinterpret this.

He pulled back from me a bit, his hand on my cheek lightly, and looked at the snow. He laughed abruptly. "Hermione, it's like a blizzard in here!"

I tore my eyes from his face and realized he was right. Blushing, I lifted my wand to calm the warm, dry snow.

Harry stopped my movements, bending to kiss me again, his hand slipping from my cheek to tangle in my hair. His other hand had closed around mine and my wand. The kiss deepened and I marveled at how, three years younger than Krum, he was much better at this. When we broke apart, I motioned to the now full-out storm rushing around us, holding us in a cylinder of white.

"You know, this isn't helping matters," I said, smiling weakly. He laughed brightly again, making my stomach flip.

"It's alright. I rather like it like this. It's like we have our own little winter world."

"Winter wonderland," I said softly against his lips. After some time, I pushed him away. "What about Ron?"

"He already knows, so I can't imagine he'll be too difficult to deal with. He probably won't talk to us for a month or so, but we've both dealt with that before."

"And Ginny?"

Harry shrugged. "Honestly? She'll probably have moved on by tomorrow evening. It's an old fancy, what she and I have. Fancies pass."

Though reassured by his words, something about his talk of fancies passing made me feel sad. Harry noticed.

"Ron was always wrong about me fancying you, you know."

I stopped breathing again, and not because Harry's mouth was on mine or because he was snogging Ginny. "Really?" I asked, my voice unnaturally high.

He shook his head. "I don't fancy you; I'm infatuated with you. I've tried to lie about it to him, myself even, but I've known since Third Year, right after we rescued Sirius, when the Dementors were closing in. You collapsed beside me, and I realized there was no way I could fight them off alone. I realized I couldn't save you, and it terrified me more than anything else ever had."

"And this infatuation, it's different than fancying?" I asked, my throat dry.

"Yes, don't you remember? Fancies fade. Infatuations are a whole different story."

"Oh. Yes. Of course," I said, not knowing what else to say. He grinned at my unusual quietness. My whole body felt warmed.

"Why did you ever encourage me to date Ginny?" he asked curiously, still grinning.

"I wanted you to be happy," I said shyly, "no matter who that was with. I wanted you to smile more."

He laughed. "Hermione, I smile more with you than with anyone I know. I can't believe you haven't realized that yet, Ron certainly has. He's also noticed that you laugh more with me than is 'healthy'."

I was doing just that when he kissed me again.


	3. She

_She, #85_

**She's So Very, Very Nervous**

Hermione isn't remembering to tell him no anymore. She isn't remembering to push him off of her. She isn't remembering that this is her _best friend_ and they shouldn't be doing this. But God, she can't even remember her own name. She gasps softly, learning precisely just how sensitive her collarbone is.

How has she never done this before? How have they not done this together before? She thinks something along the lines of _I have wasted the last sixteen years of my life by _not_ doing this_. And then she isn't thinking anymore, at least, not about anything she would normally think about. She's thinking about how badly she wants him to lift up her shirt.

But she's nervous as his lips find hers again. So very, very nervous. Nervous enough that, if she weren't so nervous, she'd be embarrassed of how profound her nervousness is.

_It's Harry. It's just Harry._

Yeah, right. That stopped working about five minutes before. Reassuring herself that it was her best friend playfully biting her earlobe hadn't helped in the slightest. Nor did the little shivers that went through her when he did that. And his low chuckle in her ear was just evil.

Normal Harry didn't make her tremble like this. This isn't the Harry who saved her from a hoard of dementors in their Third Year, or the Harry that relentlessly helped her research Nicolas Flamel.

And yet, it is. It's the same boy who panicked when he thought she was dead in the Department of Mysteries. The same boy she found the night after Sirius's death, breaking everything in the Room of Requirement.

He'd stopped when she discovered him. She explained timidly that she'd gone searching for him because she was worried. She'd even broken into his trunk and stole his Invisibility Cloak. He laughed weakly, but his laughter turned to tears quickly. She held him until he was finished sobbing.

He's especially that boy: completely ruled by his emotions. But what is he feeling now? Love, lust, madness? Why has he tangled his hand into her wild curls, letting the other fall to the small of her back? Why is he nuzzling her jawbone?

Why is she liking it _so damn much_?

How is that she's held her composure around all members of the male kind for 17 years and now, in a matter of moments, she's losing it all. And in a classroom, no less! She knows, _knows_ she should feel ashamed of her actions. She can't even _imagine_ what Professor McGonagall would do if she found them. Then again, McGonagall's never snogged Harry Potter, so she can't possibly understand.

The thought of McGonagall is enough, though, and she pushes Harry away. He's trying to catch his breath and shocked by the look on her face.

"Hermione, are you--?"

"McGonagall!" she gasps.

"What!" Harry whips around, expecting to see the formidable woman in the doorway. He turns back to Hermione confused.

"What if she caught us?" Hermione pants, brown eyes wide.

Harry looks down, apparently in thought. After a moment or so he says, "Well, hopefully she'd be impressed."

"Don't be cheeky!" Hermione says, batting him lightly, but he's still smiling mischievously. "Harry," she whines, "really, what are we doing?"

"I thought," he replies, teasing her bare knee lightly with his fingertips, "that you knew exactly what we're doing," he finishes, just barely sliding his hand underneath the hem of her wool skirt.

"Harry!" She slaps him away, looking affronted. Secretly, she wishes she hadn't stopped him.

"I was only fooling, Hermione."

"I know, but, still, what are we doing?"

"I thought we'd already covered this."

"Yes, but what about…" Hermione trails off, trying to come up with something reasonable.

"McGonagall?" Harry prompts. "I highly doubt she's going to suddenly sweep in here."

"Ron?" she asks faintly, knowing that she has nothing reasonable.

Harry's fighting not to roll his eyes. "We've been over this, too. Ron knows. He'll get over it. So will Ginny," he says loudly, seeing her opening her mouth to protest. She shuts it, looking pensive.

"Hermione?" he asks, after sometime. "What is it? Do you not want this?"

"Oh, Heavens no! Of course I want this, it's just, so different."

"And new," Harry adds.

"Yes, very new. We've known each other for almost six years, been best friends, and now, suddenly, here we are. I mean, I'm sitting on a teacher's desk, Harry, it's not exactly normal behavior."

"If it makes you feel better, it's not used by a teacher anymore."

Hermione gives him a look he knows well. "That doesn't help."

"Well, at least this old classroom's getting some use?" he offers in vain.

She suppresses a laugh, but can't hide a weak smile. "Harry, what about the details? How are we going to tell everyone?"

"We could just walk into breakfast hand-in-hand tomorrow? Ignore everyone else? Let's make this a quiet affair, Hermione."

She nods. "Quiet is good, especially where you're concerned. I guess, though, people will talk no matter what."

"So you want to just go back now and snog on a couch in front of the entire house?" Harry asked, fighting to keep his face straight.

She swatted at him again, grinning. "No, I like the quiet. And I like it here."

"So you're okay with this? For now at least? We're… good?" He asks, grinning back, happy that she's happy again. He's still not too sure of what he's asking from her, though. _Everything_, he decides.

She nods slowly. "I think so, yes."

"Then," he says tentatively, "can we…?"

"Continue?"

"Yeah."

Her smile widens as she leans to kiss him again.

* * *

Author's Note/Disclaimer: Surprise! I don't own Harry Potter! Thank you to everyone that reads and reviews. Reviews do make me write more, just so you know. They're very motivating. 


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